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Friends of WF
Okay so I was pissed.
I mean really pissed.
Not pissed with alcohol
but really, really pissed
like the spin of the world
had suddenly spun the wrong way
or the sun had sunk before the day
had even begun.

So pissed the body filled with electricity
something had to be done
but I’m stuck in lock down
and, lucky I suppose, I am all alone.

I go out to the back
even in this pissed state I recognise
that having an outside is a piece of luck
all those apartment dwellers
have surrendered
but I don’t give a fuck
I am really pissed.

I find the hatchet I use
find a tree that for no reason other than it grew
place the blade again the trunk
and start the pissed rhythm of thunk…thunk…thunk
each thunk takes away the words that come
with over thinking.

Sweat explodes
the arm hurts
the hand grows blisters like weeds.
into that goddam trunk
its only a wattle after all
a fast growing, good-for-nothing but firewood tree.

It falls
as does my mood
into a calm lake, a few ripples to hint
regret will come tonight
but for now
I’m so spent I’m free.